His Mother's Boy
by LoLoGreeneVines
Summary: Working through the agony of losing your wife is a lot more difficult when you're bombarded with constant reminders of her in everything your son does.


**Author's notes: Happy Lowri Day! Yes, it's becoming a well-established tradition that every year on the first of June I crawl out of the woodwork and embark on a fanfic-uploading spree in celebration of yet another year of having not died. (This makes twenty-two.) :D**

 **Anyway, I wanted to do something of a character-study, and because I love the Ishidas I wanted to write about them and the result turned out to be really rather angsty. I hope these two make up before Kubo-sensei kills one (or both) of them off. :/**

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"... And then he helped me to cook the rice."

"Yes, yes, very good," said Ryuken, impatiently checking his watch. He hadn't left work earlier than usual that day to listen to the childminder rabbiting on about everything she and Uryu had got up to since she had picked him up from school. "Thank you, Ai, I'll send your next cheque in the post."

The girl evidently got the hint, for she hastily gathered her coat and took a step towards the front door. "Thank you, Doctor Ishida."

Ryuken opened the front door for her. "Where is he now?"

Ai smiled, pointing to the door on the left of the entrance hall. "The living room. He's sewing something, I'm not sure what, exactly, but it's white and has a lovely blue pattern on it."

Ryuken pinched the bridge of his nose. _I'll bet it does._

"Anyway, I'll be off," Ai continued, stepping through the door and waving in the direction of the front window. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Have a good evening," said Ryuken, nodding politely as she turned her back, and shut the door as she walked away down the drive.

After the sound of the door closing had faded away, he stretched out his hand for the living room door, hesitating briefly as he contemplated pushing it open. Would Uryu really want to see him?

After a moment's deliberation, he silently nudged it ajar, opening it further when there was no protest. He let himself in, noiselessly entering, and his gaze fell upon the small figure of his ten-year-old son sitting on the sofa, facing away from him, a square of white fabric clutched in his little hands.

He watched in fascination as his son weaved the narrow needle through the soft fabric, dark-blue crosses forming an intricate embroidered pattern. Uryu seemed to be completely at peace, and even Ryuken found himself relaxed just by watching the repetitive, almost hypnotic motion. He almost smiled; Uryu really was Kanae's son.

A phantom twinge of pain shot through Ryuken at the memory of his wife sitting in the same spot, sewing very similar patterns, holding her slender hands as steadily as their son was now.

Uryu chose that moment to give a tiny exclamation of irritation, and Ryuken was dragged out of his memories to realise that his son had reached the end of his piece of cotton thread. He tilted his head slightly, watching as Uryu dutifully cut another piece and held it up to his needle, his serious expression slightly softened by the tip of his tongue poking out from between his lips in concentration.

Kanae had done that, too. Why had their son had to inherit all of her more endearing tics? it made it even more impossible to banish the agony of having lost her a bit over a year ago when he was constantly confronted by the littlest reminders of her in Uryu; it was the main reason why he chose to work long hours and relegated more of his son's care to a childminder. Ryuken sighed, only realising when Uryu turned around to frown at him that the noise had been audible.

"What do you want?" Uryu asked.

Ryuken briefly closed his eyes, the better to force back the slightly surplus of moisture coating his eyes, and disguising the motion by pushing his glasses further up his nose. "I was watching."

"I can tell." Uryu folded his arms, regarding his father with a carefully blank expression. "Why?"

There really wasn't an answer for that. Ryuken frowned briefly as Uryu raised an eyebrow, the exact same way Kanae used to.

"Must you do that?" Ryuken blurted out, giving a wide gesture sweeping Uryu's entire area.

Uryu scowled. "Sewing?"

"That's part of it," muttered Ryuken.

This was the wrong thing to say. Uryu puffed up in indignation, his glasses flashing and his round eyes narrowing. "Is it because I'm a boy and boys aren't supposed to sew?"

 _No_ , thought Ryuken. _It's because you're your mother all over and it hurts._

"You have steady hands," Ryuken said, in an attempt to steer the subject away. "You'll make a good surgeon one day."

"What if I don't want to be a surgeon?"

"Well, you can't make a living sewing."

 _Stupid, stupid Ryuken. Isn't that exactly what Kanae did before she married you?_ He could have hit his own head against a wall.

"Maybe I don't want to do that, either. It's just a hobby," Uryu insisted.

Ryuken stared at the wall. "Well, I could arrange for you to have piano lessons or something," he suggested.

" _No_ ," his son shouted, his voice wavering slightly in that way it always did when he was trying not to cry. That was one of Ryuken's rarer habits he had happened to inherit, although Uryu, sensitive as he was, demonstrated it far more often. "Mummy taught me how to sew and it makes me happy. Why don't you want me to be happy?"

"Because it's making me unhappy." Ryuken cringed at his own words, simultaneously infuriated with himself for communicating his own negative feelings and saddened by the expression of loathing which was spreading across Uryu's face. _That's not what I meant._

Uryu stabbed his threaded needle into the fabric, where it held in place. "If that's how you feel, I'm going to my room, where my presence can't make you unhappy," he said, matter-of-factly, as he stood up and turned his back on his father.

Ryuken couldn't prevent a single tear from falling. "You're all I have left," he said, focussing all of his energy into keeping his voice steady.

Uryu didn't even turn around. "Then I'm sorry I'm not good enough."

And with that, he slammed the door behind him.

"But you are," Ryuken whispered to the empty room, collapsing onto the sofa as shock and grief and _guilt_ over the colossal and possibly irreparable misunderstanding crashed over him. He didn't even make an effort to fight the tears off, and when he had worn himself out crying he slept, and when he awoke on the sofa in the morning to find that Uryu had already left for school he resolved to give his son more space.


End file.
